


Red Swim Trunks

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Puns, Baker Castiel, Bakery Shop Owner Castiel, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Model Dean, Oh yes, Openly Bisexual Dean, Sexual Humor, Shopping Malls, Shy Castiel, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 08:46:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8482996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “It’s fine, it’s-I—what’re you doing back here?” Cas stammers, because holy hell, Dean almost got a front row seat to Cas’s exclusive show. “Aren’t you supposed to be out front?” Dean chuckles as he uses the same hand on his forehead to rub his eyes. “Yeah… I mean, no, I’m just getting off of my shift. I usually use one of the changing rooms to change out into my normal clothes. You’ve got to, um, flip the knob to the right for it to lock.” Dean drags his hand over the back of his neck. “Not that it matters now, but you know, just in case some other idiot comes barging in.”Cas laughs, ducking his head before eyeing the swim trunks in his tightly balled right hand. “Yeah, that would’ve been embarrassing.”There’s a pause, then Dean says, shyly, “For the record, those look really good on you.”





	

 

He’s a star in his own right.

Not just any star, either: a fresh-out-of-the-handsy-hands-of-Hollywood star. He’s like Paul Newman minus the three-piece suit, Robert Redford minus the sideburns, Steve McQueen minus the cigarette that puts him over the edge of desirability. But like all those men, he’s his own sovereign entity. Bright green eyes, short but wispy caramel brown hair, plush pink lips, and his body. Perky nipples like that should be illegal, as should those tanned bowlegs that act as a gate, inviting passerbyers in. (Which he does, effortlessly. Who knew guys could sell a ton of clothes in just red swim trunks?)

Cas decides today is the day to be braver than the confines of his hundred-some square foot shop.

Today he’s going to enter the same spotlight as the Hollister model across the walkway.

Of course, by the time Cas gets close enough, he turns right back around, because _wow,_ he is way more intimidating up close. However, before he can walk the way back to his shop, a deep voice calls out, “Hey!”

Cas swivels around and tries not to gawk, because that voice belongs to Hot Hollister guy. “Y-yeah?”

“Dean,” he says, lending out his hand. “I’m a huge fan of pie.”

Cas’s heart hammers in his chest as he accepts the hand offered to him, a smile lifting his face. “Cas. You’re welcome to stop by my place of work anytime.”

“You too,” Dean replies, and then he’s winking before his attention gets diverted by a group of girls mobbing him for a picture, which is fine, because Cas is blushing the color of Dean’s swim trunks.

_Dean._

Cas burns a few bagels throughout the day thinking about him, but can’t find it in him to care.

***

He swears today is the day.

Or at least that’s what he told Charlie. In all fairness, she’s having a pool party this Saturday, and everyone Cas has either seen walking into the local gym, or hogging the posts at the grocers with mini cheese cubes is in attendance, so he has to find a good bathing suit.

Dean’s not standing in front today, which raises a stew of questions swirling around in Cas’s long liquefied brain. He tries pushing back those thoughts in favor of the swinging doors ahead of him.

Luckily, the men’s swimsuit area is limited to maybe six or seven decent pairs—you know, compared to the half dozen others that barely hold a pencil in them. Cas isn’t much to brag about what he has. There’s nothing _to_ brag about, anyway. Cas is already much tanner than he expected to be in his late twenties, which is bizarre, considering the only heat he’s in front of comes from an oven. He’s pretty average in the abs department either, not packing a lot of anything anywhere. He can thank being a baker for that one.

A particular pair of swim trunks catches Cas’s attention: light and fading blue from the top into a darker blue at the bottom that matches the color of his eyes. When he tries them on in one of the dressing rooms, though, he finds they ride up a little more than his liking, especially around his crotch area. Cas frowns, looping his long thumbs into each side to take them off. It’s not like he’s going to actually swim at a pool party, because that would be ridiculous, but it would’ve been nice to give the bird to the Kansas heat.

Not even a second later, he’s jumping back like a pastry out of a toaster, because the stall door opens.

“Oh! Oh my God, I’m just gonna—”

“Dean?!” Cas gasps. This is every fantasy come to life. He would pinch himself, but his lower extremities are doing a bang-up job at that in the trunks.

Cas immediately starts shucking off his clothes after Dean backs out of the small room, getting back into his regular clothes to open the door. Dean still has his hand over his eyes like a visor, and maybe it’s the wonky lighting in the back, but Cas can swear he sees Dean’s body turning light pink. He’s still in his work clothes—i.e., next to _no_ clothes—except he has a duffel in the other hand. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

“It’s fine, it’s-I—what’re you doing back here?” Cas stammers, because _holy hell_ , Dean almost got a front row seat to Cas’s exclusive show. “Aren’t you supposed to be out front?”

Dean chuckles as he uses the same hand on his forehead to rub his eyes. “Yeah… I mean, no, I’m just getting off of my shift. I usually use one of the changing rooms to change out into my normal clothes. You’ve got to, um, flip the knob to the right for it to lock.” Dean drags his hand over the back of his neck. “Not that it matters now, but you know, just in case some other idiot comes barging in.”

Cas laughs, ducking his head before eyeing the swim trunks in his tightly balled right hand. “Yeah, that would’ve been embarrassing.”

There’s a pause, then Dean says, shyly, “For the record, those look really good on you.”

***

Cas shows up for work the next day in jeans which barely cover the light blue waistband of his new trunks.

But who cares, he’s behind a counter eight hours of the day anyway.

If he’s being honest with himself, they actually feel somewhat nice. It takes a moment to get over the constant feeling of sitting on the edge of a bicycle seat, but it’s not bad. And they just might give him the push he needs, because, on his lunch hour—after yet another four whole hours of pining over the tallest and trimmest model to the point of churning through various puns such as _abs­_ -olutely gorgeous and, his personal favorite, _tan-_ talizing—he marches over to the Hollister store.

By the time he reaches the model of his choice, who’s wrapping up a picture with a petite blonde woman, he takes a deep breath and taps on Dean’s shoulder. Dean turns around, the tough face he usually does for photos softening and spreading into a smirk the same way butter would on a croissant. “Heya, Cas.”

A smile slips out of Cas’s grasp and onto his face too as he replies, “Hello Dean.”

“Girls, man,” he laughs, not even bothering turning around as he scratches his neck.

“Another admirer?”

Dean scoffs, “Hardly. Most of them just want a picture with one of us to make their ex jealous. I can’t contend, though. I’ve dated a few guys, they can be real assholes.”

“Uh, yeah, no, I totally get that,” Cas replies, trying his best not to act _too_ ridiculously happy, although, working with bread most of the day, his people skills are a little rusty, and the next thing that follows is: “I’ve dated lots—of guys, I mean. Not that I necessarily _want_ to date so many, I just haven’t found… have you even eaten today?"

Dean blinks a few times. “I, uh, I don’t know. Do the free samples from your shop count?”

"No,” Cas chuckles, then: “Wait, when did you—?”

“Never mind, why do you ask?”

“Well, I mean, if you’re off in few minutes … _treat_ ing you to lunch would be _sweet.”_

Cas’s every muscle cringes, but luckily, Dean’s full-on smiling, saying, “I would very _michelin_ that.”

***

“And then I said, ‘How ‘bout showing the lady some respect’? Turns out he wasn’t her boyfriend, he was her _brother._ I should’ve known. Sammy and I, my little brother, bicker like a couple all the friggin’ time.”

“What did you do?” Cas asks, clutching his half-drunk Sprite in hand. They receive strange looks at the food court, probably because Dean forgot to pack a shirt in his duffel and had only his leather jacket and a pair of ripped jeans to show for, but he’s not fretting (honestly, for someone as toned as Dean, who would?), going so far as to even ask random strangers if he’s fit to be a member of Judas Priest.

Dean takes a sip of his Coca-Cola. “Mm, what any self-respecting guy would do in my position,” he comments, throwing his arms behind his head as he leans back in his chair, “I slept with him.”

“Seriously?” Cas laughs, mouth dropping.

Dean shrugs with a complacent smile. “I dig dudes with a little bit of attitude.”

“How did you even know?”

“I didn’t,” Dean admits, “not until I was fogging up a changing room mirror.”

“You’re absurd,” Cas scoffs, mostly to interrupt his thoughts of the scenario in play. Luckily, his watch goes off, signaling five minutes before the end of his lunch hour, so he can’t turn redder than he already is.

“Absurd enough to say I don’t want this to end?”

Cas bites his lip, because damn, neither does he. The last thing he wants to do is return to work when he could be talking to Dean about everything over the moon. “Well, I mean, we still have… four and a half minutes.”

Dean eyes Cas with a devious smile that makes Cas rise out of his seat faster than dough in an oven. “Might as well fog up as many mirrors as we can.”

 


End file.
